


The End and What Follows In Its Wake

by RachelSadie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Post War, Self Harm, Slow Burn, The Battle of Hogwarts, war damage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelSadie/pseuds/RachelSadie
Summary: First, Draco lied to Bellatrix and saved Harry's life. Then, Harry pulled him from the flames in the room of requirement. When Hagrid carries Harry Potter's body, lifeless and limp, onto the grounds - why is it Draco Malfoys voice that sounds so pitifully broken? There's no explanation. And there's no explanation for why they continue their compulsive need to exist around each other. For years, they've compulsively fought and hated. Now, it seems, they just can't stop helping each other.Funny, the things war does to a person.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	The End and What Follows In Its Wake

**Author's Note:**

> This is not yet Beta's so it could be rough but I was too excited to wait to post it. The original intention was for it to be a one shot, but honestly it started to feel a lot more like a chapter fic and I rolled with it. Chapters will probably be updated really slowly, unless some kind of magic allows me to wright a million words in the next few days. I hope you enjoy this though! Please always leave comments!!

The air was cool as Hagrid carried him across the grounds. From where he lay in the forest, back to the school where he knew that every person he had ever cared for would assume his death upon sight. It was harrowing, but it was exactly what was necessary. For this moment, everyone who laid eyes on him needed to truly believe he was dead, or else he risked that Voldemort would notice his breath and kill him on the spot. Hagrid’s tears were soaking him, falling hard and fast enough that Harry could easily have thought it might be raining.

“Harry Potter is dead!” Voldemort’s voice bellowed through the air. There was silence then, except for the sound of vague screams. From Ginny, predictably. Her voice was sharp to his ears. As familiar as his own. There was another voice though. Another scream. This one was in the form of his name, though it was strangled and broken. The voice was as familiar as Ginny’s, though not nearly as expected. It was everything he could do to not allow his eyes to shoot open in that very second. That second voice..he’d heard it sound angry and resentful. He had heard malice and mockery. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard it sound quite so desperate or devastated, and the fact that the sound came in the wake of Harry’s death was nothing short of bewildering. 

“Draco. Come.” Harry heard Lucius speak from behind him, and again willed himself to keep his eyes closed, if only for a few more moments. He was relying only on his hearing to give him any sense of what was going on. The silence was difficult to interpret, but when he heard Narcissa’s soft voice behind him, he knew that Draco must not have moved. 

“Draco.” Her voice echoed her husbands, though the tone of it was different. Where Lucius sounded desperate and commanding, Narcissa sounded soft and reassuring. Harry thought for a moment that if she had spoken to him in that sort of a voice, he too might have followed her wherever she asked him to. A mother’s charm, he supposed. Not that he had ever gotten to have that with his own mother, but time and time again he had heard Mrs. Weasley speak that way. As if the gentle formation of words could calm raging seas of evil in the world. He almost couldn’t blame Malfoy for the move that he made next. Harry heard Voldemort speak to him, accept him into their ranks. Malfoy didn’t speak another word, silenced by all that went on around him. No doubt by terror and the scornful gaze of his father as well. Harry had no doubt that Malfoy’s outcry had caused his father that much more shame. 

If Draco Malfoy were mourning Harry Potter, Harry could no longer hear any sign of it. He could hear people shifting around him to make room for Draco among his parents, but that was the only way he even really knew that his long time rival was close to him. Until, that was, that his limp arm, hanging low behind Hagrid’s back, was brushed very gently. He had no way to know that it was in fact Malfoy. From his position, eyes closed and body limp, depending on his other senses, he could only guess. He could only hope. Should he take any sort of risk, and be wrong, he might expose himself. Had it been an intention brush from Malfoy, or had a random Death Eater only accidentally nudged him? 

He focused his thoughts on Neville for a minute, hearing him step forward. As he spoke, the crowd of Death Eaters laughed at him. Harry seized this moment, in hopes that the Death Eaters were too preoccupied to notice a small detail. He curled the hand of the arm that had been brushed, then uncurled it, falling limp again. It was the slightest of movements. An attempt at a signal that he had no way of knowing was received or not. Why he even decided to send such a signal was far beyond his own understanding. How could he possibly trust that Draco wouldn’t turn him in just as quickly as the rest of the Death Eaters would? His mind flashed back to the Manor. He remembered clearly the moment he had thought this before. Malfoy had looked him straight in the eye and Harry had no doubts that he was recognized. They had spent the past six years studying each others every move. Harry could see the recognition in Malfoy’s eyes. He could see something else in them too, though then he hadn’t been able to name it. Now he thought it might have been something like desperation. His mind wandered to the flames they had escaped only mere hours earlier in the night. How Malfoy had raised his wand to Harry in the Room of Requirement, but hesitated. Harry had saved him from the flames. Had they, in these moments, developed some sort of debt to each other? Would they need to keep risking their own lives to save each other, yet hating each other in the very same breaths?

He could not allow himself to get lost in thoughts about Draco Malfoy right now. Too many years he had allowed his obsession with the boy to rule his life. He had stalked him, fought with him, all under the guise of certainty that Malfoy was up to no good. Not now though, now he needed to focus his energy fully on the task at hand. The very final opportunity to end this war. 

He was trying to time the perfect moment to make his next move, but it appeared to him without nearly as much time to think it through as he had hoped. One moment Neville was making a speech, and the next, Harry heard the familiar sound of The Sword of Gryffindor being pulled from the hat. He knew what Neville was going to try to do, and he had no doubt that Voldemort would kill him in an instant, right there for all of his friends to see. Neville’s bravery and strength had grown impeccably, yet Harry didn’t think it was enough to kill Voldemort on his own. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered how different things would have been had Neville been the Chosen One instead of him. His hand tightened around his wand, and with great effort, he lept from Hagrid’s arms. There were shocked sounds from both sides of the divide, some clear with outrage, some with joyous laughter. He didn’t take even a moment to distinguish them before he began to fire curses at the snake. It was the only way. Nagini had to die for Voldemort to become mortal enough to die too. The final Horcrux, now that Harry himself had been stripped of the piece of Voldemort that lived inside him. 

He took his moment, and then ran, diverting Voldemort’s attention to himself and giving those left behind time to flee. He climbed over rubble, ran through destroyed walls, knowing that Voldemort was on his heels. These were certain to be the final moments. Whether he lived or died, this war would end very soon. Curses were fired back and forth. It felt like a well practiced dance at this point, splashes of bright red intermingling with bright green in front of his eyes as he willed himself to be stronger. Over and over, first from above Voldemort, casting down the stairs, then without much warning, he was below. He was quick though, turning and meeting his counterpart spell for spell. They were a perfectly matched pair, neither truly stronger than the other, leaving them in a state of combat that often felt as if it could go nowhere. He knew better now though. He knew that in truth, he was stronger, and it was only the existence of Horcruxes that made the playing field even. He had even discovered something else. Something he hadn’t realized before this moment. Even the wand in Voldemort’s very hand was loyal to Harry. The Elder Wand. The last of the Hallows. 

Harry was now the master of the Hallows, and the horcruxes were all but dead. If he had ever believed he could win this war before now, maybe it would be less of a shock. Tonight though, this very moment, is the first time he actually believed it possible. When he came face to face with Voldemort, he knew without a doubt that it would be the final time. Grabbing him, he jumped. The two of them fell and flew and fought somehow all at once until they were crashing into the stone ground. Harry didn’t have time to be concerned about the blood on his face or the pain in his body. He barely even noticed them as he grappled for his wand. He saw the moment that Voldemort weakened, and the fight, after that, was so shockingly short. Voldemort's body fell, and Harry stood in his place, frozen. It was truly over and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to feel joy. He didn’t quite feel anything at that moment, except perhaps exhaustion. He willed his feet to move, but they didn’t, seemingly cemented to the spot. The courtyard was filled with the thundering sounds of victory, hundreds of his peers running to see the final moment. 

Everything began to happen so quickly. Death Eaters were fleeing, and those on the right side of things were too busy rejoicing to try and stop them. Rounding them up would almost certainly be a job for the Aurors in the coming weeks. Harry did not envy the workload they were about to be faced with. Harry looked up from Voldemort’s body, his eyes gazing around the crowd, stopping only to narrow on someone in the distance. Well past the bridge, which, for its part, was devastated but still standing. The figure was standing just on the outskirts of the grounds, towards the mountains, looking a little lost. He tried to make out the figure, who seemed not to be moving in one direction or the other, but failed to be able to see clearly enough through the haze. 

Harry allowed only a few moments for people to congratulate him before he was overwhelmed by it, and frankly, not certain he wanted to hear it. So many people had to die to get to this point that Harry felt the overwhelm of joy was a little misplaced. Pulling free of random arms, he forced his feet to carry him into the Great Hall where he could once again survey the devastation. He would have given anything to flee the moment. To not have to be faced with the sight of Remus’s dead body, or the last laugh that died on Fred’s face. He wouldn’t allow himself that freedom though. This war was on his shoulders, as it had been from the day his parents had died. It had always been up to him to end it, and people had relied on him to do so with as few casualties as possible. Every decision he had made for his entire life had led him here. Every decision had led to these deaths, and he could still hear the ringing sound of Voldemort’s voice telling him that it was so. He walked by, identifying faces as he did so. Colin Creevy, Lavender Brown, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, continuing the list in his head as he committed every face to his memory. 

The hall was cleared not long after. The dead were being moved to a holding place before their funerals could be arranged, while the injured were moving to the infirmary to be patched up and taken care of. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over students, staff, and order members alike. There were parents, too. It was the first time that Harry had noticed. While more than three quarters of the student body had remained at Hogwarts to fight, almost every one of their parents had arrived at some point, not to whisk their children away, but to join the battle beside them. They now all congregated together at gloriously long tables set back up in the hall as if they had never been gone. The house tables stretched marvelously, filling their rightful places, though no one seemed to care to sit with their own houses. There didn’t need to be such a division right now. 

He was getting ready to slip from the hall when he was bumped into, and he winced hard. Harder when he realized who had bumped into him. Looking at Draco Malfoy standing before him, he suddenly realized it had been him at the edge of the grounds. So many questions filled his mind, but not a single one seemed apt to reach his lips. Instead they stood there a moment, staring silently at each other. Harry was grasping his arm tightly where Malfoy had bumped him and it wasn’t going unnoticed. 

“What’s wrong with your arm, Potter?” His voice was very low, spoken in a hushed tone as if merely communicating needed to be a secret. Harry could have laughed. As if there were any point to that sort of thing now. Though, a glance over Malfoy’s shoulder reminded Harry that even with Voldemort dead, Lucius was likely still an abusive, cruel son of a bitch with a particular distaste for Harry. 

“Nothing.” He responded, shaking his head. He was hardly the worst injury today. No one needed to fuss over him when so many others needed such greater attention. 

“You’re lying.” Malfoy murmured, almost a sneer, looking over his shoulder as if he was being watched. He was. His parents were huddled together awkwardly, watching their son interact with Harry. Their expressions were unreadable. Then, with not so much as another word, Malfoy was walking out of the hall, leaving his parents and Harry all in his wake. Harry took that as a cue to silently follow him, but gave it a few moments to look less suspicious. In the meantime, he filled the time by suffering through about a hundred more gracious people who wanted to touch and hug him. 

When he was finally free of them, he slipped out, hopefully unnoticed, and followed in the direction that Malfoy had gone. Why was he choosing to follow after him at all? He ought to be off celebrating, but there was something about following Malfoy that was so ingrained in him that he could not help himself. It had become a nast habit over the years, and yet, maybe it felt comfortable too, now that they’d been in the pattern for so long. Of course, this was different. He couldn’t remember a time when he had followed Malfoy, where the latter had known he was leading. Somehow that made it all the more interesting. Finding him in the girls bathroom, however, was not exactly what he had expected. The last time they had been here together still haunted his nightmares. Malfoy was leaning up against a stall, watching Harry and waiting for him to enter, but again, his feet would not carry him forward. As if being in this place with Malfoy was too much for him to bear right now. He had no right though. He reminded himself with a startle that if anyone at this moment had the right to be afraid or vulnerable or cautious, it was Malfoy himself. He had been the one who was injured that day, and now, he wanted to stand here, the ghosts of it surrounding them, and...what?

“What exactly are we doing in the girls lavatory, Malfoy?” Harry asked sharply. Draco wore an impassive face. As hard as Harry tried, and as well as he had studied his bone structure over the years, he could not read the boy when he was like this. 

“Nobody comes here, now do they, Potter?” He spoke as if Harry was stupid, and it seemed impossible that the same voice had sounded so broken when faced with his death. Malfoy moved much slower than Harry had expected him to, stepping up to him with a hand raised in an act of surrender. His wand was in his other hand and Harry was eying it with extreme caution. 

“So clearly you’re attempting to murder me. Not the first time that’s happened today, so I can’t say I’m entirely surprised.” It was an attempt at a joke, but didn’t seem well received. Malfoy’s face was once again cold and impassive, but now he was close enough to reach out and wrap his long fingers tightly around Harrys arm. He yelped at the touch, pain coursing through him. He tried to back away but the grip that the blond had on his arm only made that painful as well. 

“Would you stop? Bloody hell, I’m trying to ruddy help you.” His voice was incredibly irritated, but Harry stilled, eyes wide and on Malfoy’s face as his arm was studied. “Take your jacket off, Potter.” He said with a sigh. It was full of contempt, sure, but it was still well intentioned apparently. Harry did as he was told, sliding the leather off his arms and standing there dumbfounded and waiting to see what would happen next. Malfoy’s hand slid up and down his squeezing in some places, pushing on others, until finally he paused to look at Harry. He didn’t speak though. It was as if he was silently asking permission for something and Harry didn’t understand the question. His hands were far more gentle than Harry would have ever thought possible, and slowly, he lifted Harry’s wrist only enough to support the weight of his arm. It was feather light tough, and it brought with it a warmth that seemed to spread through him. Malfoy had not done anything with his wand, but Harry was certain that sort of warmth could only be magical. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, jumping out of reach when Malfoy did raise his wand. 

“I’m fixing your obviously broken arm.” Malfoy’s voice drawled. Harry eyed him, far too aware of the twice previously where people other than Pomfrey had healed his bones. The first had given him a jelly limb and the second had been far more painful than he thought necessary. 

“Uh- No-- it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that badly.” He shook his head and took another step backwards. Malfoy’s head curiously cocked to the side and he let out a disapproving snort. 

“You’ve just defeated the most famously dark wizard in history, and you’re afraid of having your wounds healed?”

“No, I’m afraid of you attempting to heal them out of some very twisted debt that you think you owe me for saving your life today. Which you don’t by the way, considering you saved mine first at the manor, after I very nearly killed you here in this bathroom last year.” By the time he had finished talking Malfoy was staring at him incredulously, running a hand through blond hair and shaking his head. 

“You’re quite a dunce.” Malfoy retorted. “I spent the majority of fourth year studying under Madame Pomfrey, Potter. You may have known that, had you not been too busy doing interviews and securing your spot on the cover of Witch Weekly.” 

“I was fourteen, mind you, and I almost died multiple times. That was not exactly an enjoyable time frame, you know? Not to mention that my friend died that year, and Voldemort’s minions used my blood to bring him back to life.” He was defending himself, but Malfoy barely seemed to be listening. 

“And there’s no debt, I’m simply trying to do a decent thing.” He was fully sneering now, and it made Harry sigh. 

“Please do not turn my arm to jelly, Malfoy.” The distance between them closed again, and Malfoy took hold of Harry’s arm, studying it intensely. 

“Episkey.” He said, his voice almost a whisper. In a moment, the pain from his arm was gone, and his eyes widened with the knowledge that Malfoy was indeed actually good at that. Did he want to be a healer? Harry thought that was a little out of character, but then, he had never really spent time thinking about what Malfoy would do after Hogwarts.

“Thanks…” Harry’s voice trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Finally he excused himself from the awkward silence and made his way back to the doors. He was just about to exist when he heard the very faintest murmur. 

“Incendio.” The word was as quiet as it could have been, obviously not meant for Harry’s ears. It was no matter though, he had heard. He turned back just in time to see Malfoy’s wand pointed at his own arm. His eyes shot up into his hairline and he moved back, fast. Without a thought, without regard for the flame, he tackled Malfoy to the floor. 

“Augumenti!” His voice was far louder as they wrestled and he struggled to keep a grip on his wand. The flame subsided, but not before marring the skin of Malfoy’s arm. Harry’s stomach twisted as he realized that may have been the intent. “Have you lost your entire mind? I just saved you from a ruddy fire and here you are setting yourself ablaze in the middle of the girls lavatory!” He was fuming. “So many people died today, and this castle has so much damage, and here you go just setting your damn self on fire as if it’s no big thing.”

“Get off me!” Draco shoved at Harry, pushing him backwards and off of him as he righted himself, barely wincing at his new burns. They had to be painful, and the fact that he barely huffed over them only made Harry wonder what other sort of horrors he’d had to endure. “Do you think that after today, someone with a Dark Mark will be snuggled and loved on? You think I’ll get a job with that thing taking up my arm?” He paused and then shook his head. It was more than that. “I’m not proud of it and I don’t want it on my body. I’d rather have the scars.” 

Harry was silent, processing. He hadn’t even stopped to think about what Malfoy was actually aiming for. He was too focused on the here and now of what he did, that he didn’t bother to question the motive. Harry sank backwards on the floor and watched Malfoy, taking in every flicker of emotion that he could gather from the cool impassiveness of his face. His pale skin was almost haunting in the dim light, and Harry though that he almost looked like corporeal form of a ghost. “You just set yourself on fire in order to rid yourself of a tattoo?” He was completely aghast and disbeliving, shaking his head. 

“It’s not just a tattoo and you bloody well know it, Potter.” His words were spit with such venom that Harry stopped shaking his head to actually stand and cross over to him. 

“Can I please have a look at that now that you’ve burned yourself? I’m not quite as good with medicine as you are, but I can...maybe…” Draco did not look pleased. As if the idea that Harry Potter was going to try and fix his wound was appalling, Despite the fact that only moments ago these roles had been reversed. 

“I think not. If you’re any less than brilliant at it, you’ll only end up making it worse.” His blonde hair fell in his eyes as he shook his head vigorously. “I don’t think either of us are in any state for having to explain to Madame Pomfrey whatever ailment you end up causing me.” Harry wanted to be offended, but truth be told, he was probably right. On his very best day, he knew very little about medicine. He had fought a war today. He was entirely spent. 

“Alright, Have it your way but you at the very least need to wrap it in something.” Before he could object, Harry was shrugging off both his shirt and his undershirt, using the latter to wrap Malfoys arm. Only when he was done did he slide his regular shirt back on, completely missing the fact that Malfoy’s eyes had been more focused on Harry’s chest than on his own self inflicted injury. 

“Why are you caring for me, Potter? Don’t you have autographs to sign?” His voice was nasty again. 

“Stop it.” Was all that Harry could reply with at first. The absolute chill of his tone left no room for anyone, even Draco Malfoy, to argue with him. “You think you’re funny, do you? Making jokes at my expense about the fame and the fans. Do you think that I enjoy it all?” Harry met him with a sneer of his own. “Of course you do, you always have. Narrow minded git that you can be.” Draco’s eye was raised at the amount of Venom in Harry’s tone. “You want to know the truth Malfoy?” Harry asked, taking a step away from him. “I have no joy today. I am not happy that Voldemort is defeated. I am not elated that the war is over. I don’t want to go out there and be hugged and kissed and thanked. People are dead. People that I loved, people that I never met, men and women and children. They’re dead. Because they believed in me to defeat him, and I didn’t do it in time to spare their lives. People trusted me, and they’re dead for it.” He shook his head. “So yeah, there are people out there waiting for my return so that they can praise and coddle me. But for a ruddy second I’m going to stay here, with you. The one horrible git who doesn’t think the sun shines out my arse.” 

Malfoy was stunned into silence, and he swallowed sharply, seeming to take in Harry’s words for the first time in his life. “That still begs the question, why are you helping me? You could be here, avoiding the lot of them, and not tending to my wounds.” Harry could not believe his ears. That Malfoy was asking this question now made his head ache. 

“Why did you fix my arm? Why did I come back for you in the fire? Why did you lie to Bellatrix? Why did you scream for me when you thought I was dead. I heard you. ” He raised his eyebrows as if he was expecting any kind of real answer. He wasn’t. They were all rhetorical questions. He doubted that Malfoy could have answered them even if he had wanted to. He knew that he couldn’t have himself, every answer he came up with seemed a little but too far fetched. 

“So what now?” Draco’s voice shook a little. He didn’t know where this conversation was supposed to go. After all, Potter should hate him, but he stood there like some sort of old friend, taking solace in his company. 

“Now everyone will go home, mourn their dead, celebrate their victory, and try to move on the best they can.” He didn’t know what that meant for him. He didn’t have a home. Not really. 

“And if one has no home to return to?” It was as if Malfoy voiced Harry’s thoughts. He couldn’t tell if he was referring to Harry or himself though. 

“Malfoy Manor?” Harry asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Destroyed, mostly. Not entirely but…” There was something else he wasn’t saying, and harry was getting ready to prod at it when he opened his mouth again. “I don’t really want to be where my mum and dad are tonight. I don’t think they’ll be in the best of moods, if you know what I mean.” Harry pressed his lips together, understanding. Malfoy had been an abused child, that much Harry had always suspected. He saw the same traces in Malfoy’s mannerisms as he often saw in his own. 

“I feel like I am going to regret this decision.” Harry said, shaking his head before he walked up to Malfoy and set his hand upon the boys shoulder. Before another word could be uttered, they were being squeezed and shifted and sent through space as Harry apparated, landing them outside the door of Grimmauld Place. He hadn’t been here since before the ordeal at the Manor. 

“Where exactly are we?” 

“This was Sirius’s home. The order used it as a headquarters during the war and...I guess technically it’s mine now. Kreacher, the house elf, is my elf now too. Though I don’t really want him, he says he plans to stay even if I free him.” The door appeared before them and Harry lead the way in. Everything was exactly as they had left it. He stood in the hallway for a minute with his lips pressed tightly together before he finally started up the stairs. 

“Come with me.” He said, beckoning. Malfoy looked startled. “I’m not coming onto you, you great buffoon. I just thought you might like to see something.” Malfoy followed obediently, seeming to absorb every new sight as he walked slowly through the place, until Harry stopped in a large room with a large tapestry. Malfoy’s eyes widened. 

“This is--” Harry started, only to be interrupted. 

“My family tree.” He ran his hand across the photos of the relatives he knew, letting his fingertips absorb the magic he felt there. 

“Technically, this house has been in your family for centuries. It’s mine now, by the will of my godfather, but….” He paused, already doubting his own words. “I could share it. With you. If you want. I mean rightfully who’s to decide who should have it, yeah? So maybe...both.” He had no idea why he was doing this. He could already hear the horrified tone of Ron’s voice when he told him. The way Malfoy was looking at him was pretty much a reflection of his own inner confusion. 

“You want me to live with you?” 

“I would say that ‘want’ might be putting it strongly, but I think that maybe you’re going to be quite as lost as I am in the aftermath of all this. It might be pleasant to not be alone.” Of course, Harry was never alone if he didn’t want to be, but he only felt comfortable crowding the Weasleys so much, especially now that they would be in mourning. Grief was a nasty monster at the best of times. He doubted whether having him in their home would be helpful for anyone. 

Malfoy nodded, and after another brief silence and a curt nod, he went off to secure his own space. It didn’t take him long to claim the master bedroom as his own, which only made Harry laugh and roll his eyes. The predictability of it. He hardly minded though. He’d lived in a broom closet, then shared a dormitory. He’d never had a large space of his own. Having Sirius’s old room felt perfect for him. 

That was the last they spoke for the evening. It wasn’t until dawn, when Kreacher loudly proclaimed it was time for Master Harry and Master Draco to have breakfast, that they spoke again. At first, it was just a shared look of disdain over the head of the elf. Neither of them were quite ready to be awake yet. They weren’t entirely well from the day before, and they certainly were not well rested. Harry had been up half the night allowing his grief over his lost loved ones to really sink in. He didn’t know what kept Draco up, though there were a list of possibilities. They both had an array of reasons for sleepless nights. 

“You really ought to have someone have a look at your arm, Draco.” Harry’s words cut through a mouthful of toast, which made the blond scrunch his nose up in distaste. 

“I’ll be fine. Are we on a first name basis now?” He raised only one eyebrow, almost as if he was still taunting Harry. 

“We’re going to be living together, I think it’s probably time to get past the use of surnames.” 

“Alright.” They ate breakfast quietly, taking small peeks at each other. Sidelong glances that were met with quickly turned heads. “What do you think will happen to me now?” Draco asked as Kreacher took his plate. “Everyone knows what I did. Everyone saw me choose to go to Voldemort when we thought you were dead.I’m a war criminal.” 

“Did you kill anyone?” Harry asked, not even bothering to look at Draco. 

“No but--” 

“End of story.” Harry stood from the table and walked out of the room, leaving a very stunned Draco behind in the kitchen. 

“Harry!” He scrambled up and after him, grabbing him by the front of the t-shirt and pushing him against the wall. “What the hell do you think that’s about? I asked you a bloody question, one that I obviously actually have concern about, and you just shut it down?” Harry moved his hand up to pry Malfoy’s pale fingers from the fabric of his shirt. 

“I think…” He started slowly. “I think that everyone who was associated with Voldemort is going to be rounded up. I think you’ll all have to face some sort of a trail. Those who are guilty will go to Azkaban. Those who were backed into corners, forced to make impossible choices, and manipulated, will not.” He gave Draco a knowing look. ‘You are not going to Azkaban, Draco.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“You are not going to Azkaban.” He said it again, letting it come out more sternly. He didn’t look much like he believed him, but he seemed willing enough to drop it now. Only then did Harry notice that he had never let go of Draco’s hand. They stood there, in the middle of the hallway of a home they planned to share, Draco’s hand wrapped in Harrys. 

Draco cleared his throat after a moment, a pink tinge in his cheeks. “Right. Okay.” He pulled his hand back gently, starting to walk up the stairs again. Before he could retreat again, Harry called his name one last time. He stopped mid stairs to turn and look at his new roommate. 

“Let’s just promise to keep saving each other’s stupid lives, yeah? Whatever that entails.” Harry offered a small smile. 

“Now that we’ve made some sort of weird habit of doing that sort of rubbish.” Draco nodded in return, then continued to disappear up the stairs. 

Harry rested against the wall a moment, looking up at the ceiling. There was no question the the end of the war would bring a lot of strange changes. There would be grief and rebuilding, and so many adjustments to the life they had known. Not a single member of the wizarding world would ever really be the same. 

Grief would be a challenge for Harry. Nightmares would almost certainly plague him. Self deprecation would likely be an issue. Somehow though, through all of this, he thought living with Draco Malfoy may pose the biggest challenge of them all.


End file.
